The summer camp was desolate.
A windy field.
The visitors chattering
with clumps of bright balloons.
Though I’d begun to discover how to elevate,
their mindless blather and heedless gaiety
brought me to a boil,
and I tried to pop the balloons
with an angry pinch.
The way to get out of the doldrums was this:
scan the colors of the field for a patch
with a certain living brightness
and fix on it;
then find the edge of a cliff
at the top of a hill,
and when the brightness fills the space
beyond the edge,
trust to leap
into the grand abyss
and fly beyond
the common world.
Cliff after cliff
abyss beyond abyss
a desolate terrain—
no life had ever assumed
within its colored gravels and sullen pools—
Oh yes, there was water—some water—mostly dried up now
and the magic, desert-like geography
proved to be a space
on the outskirts of Barrytown.
If my flying failed and I found myself grounded,
again and again I climbed the gravel cliffs
with hoof and claw—
declivitous, almost vertical—
and at the top
against the certain shining of the space above it
This time, I don’t think I’ll make it, so I spy
a pool below
of a yellow “calcite” liquid
and allow myself another stratagem –to fall
the calcinated water
into my body below
and seamlessly wake then.